


Thicker Than Water

by cvsossong



Series: It Takes a Village [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peter's an idiot but what teen isn't, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cvsossong/pseuds/cvsossong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Steve get into a huge fight and Peter tells Steve he's not his real dad. Time for Tony to sit down and smack some sense into his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thicker Than Water

“I can’t believe you were out after curfew!”

Tony watched Steve follow Peter out of the kitchen, swinging the door shut as he did. Both of them looked pissed. That wasn’t good. Steve and Peter never argued.

“It was just a couple of hours, lighten up!” Peter shouted back. He turned to face Steve and waved a hand at the clock (when the hell did Tony get a clock in here?) “What, were you sitting here in the dark waiting for me to get back?”

“I was worried something had happened to you,” Steve replied. “You’re sixteen, Peter, it’s not safe to be out this late, especially on your own—”

Peter scoffed. “Oh, whatever, it’s barely past midnight.” (Tony glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost 1 am. Right.) “I was over at Gwen’s house, not lounging around in a drug den!”

Tony balled up the oil rag he was wiping his hands on and tossed it on the table. “Peter, what time were you asked to come home?” he cut in. Peter turned and rolled his eyes.

“I get it, Dad, I’m a little late—”

“Two and a half hours is not a _little_ late,” Steve interrupted. “Two and a half hours late is when people start sending out search parties.”

“I’m two years from graduating and moving out, can’t you at least try to treat me like an adult?”

“You’re not an adult, Peter,” Tony said firmly. “You were given a time to be home, we expect you to be home.”

“I get it, I’ll ground myself or whatever punishment you want. But can you please tell Pop to lay off?” Peter flopped on the couch and glared Steve’s way. “He’s been yelling at me for twenty minutes straight, it’s getting annoying.”

Teenagers. Why the hell did Tony ever think he wanted one.

“I haven’t been yelling, Peter, I'm trying to explain to you that you have to at least tell us if you’re going to be late.” Steve looked exhausted, and Tony didn’t blame him. “What if you had been killed, or kidnapped, or gotten in an accident? We wouldn’t have even known where to start looking for you.”

“I get it, okay? Just let it go,” Peter groaned.

Steve sighed and rubbed his temples. “I can’t let it go, Peter. We’re your parents and—”

“Look, you’re not even my real parent, so just lay off!” Peter jumped up and whirled on Steve.  “Just because you married my dad doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do!” With that, he stormed out, slamming his bedroom door down the hall.

Tony took a deep breath and braced himself, expecting a long, painful discussion about how to punish Peter. Instead, Steve was strangely silent.

Tony turned to face his husband and saw that Steve looked crushed. His expression was hurt, and confused, and Tony wanted to smack some sense into Peter for that last little comment of his. Clearly it had effected Steve more than Tony had thought it would.

“He doesn’t think I'm…” Steve trailed off, blinking and drawing in a sharp breath. Without another word, he turned and headed for the elevator.

“Steve, wait, where are you going?” Tony called.

Steve turned before he pressed the button and shrugged, looking pained. “Just… I’m going out for a bit. For a jog.”

Tony followed Steve into the elevator and wrapped an arm around Steve’s neck, rubbing circles with the pad of his thumb comfortingly. “Sweetheart, he didn’t mean it,” he murmured.

Steve bit his lip and nodded, staying silent. Seriously. Peter was doomed to be grounded until he was dead.

“I just… need to go out for a run. To clear my head,” Steve finally whispered. The elevator arrived at the ground floor and Steve pressed a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

Tony watched him head outside, look up at the sky for a second, and then take off full speed towards the River. He pressed the button for the top floor and waited while the elevator headed back up.

Time to have a little father to son talk.

\--------------------

Peter groaned when he heard a sharp knock. “Just leave me alone,” he muffled into his pillow.

“Not an option,” Dad called, pushing the door open. Miles barked and climbed on the bed with him, curling into his side and whining some. Peter grimaced and turned onto his back, glaring up at his father and angrily petting the dog. Sometimes he was convinced Miles was the only one that understood him in this family.

“Just get it over with,” Peter finally said. “Ground me for a month or whatever, and just let me be alone. Please.”

“Oh, you are grounded for so much longer than that.” Tony sat on the bed by Peter’s knees and glared right back at him.

Fuck. Dad looked really angry, and Dad was never angry. Not at Peter. Dad was always the laid- back one.

They were silent for a minute, glaring at each other while Peter tried to figure out exactly why Dad was so pissed. Miles whined again and licked Peter’s hand.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” Dad finally demanded.

“I stayed out a couple of hours, so what—”

“You think I care that you were out past your damn curfew?”

Peter winced. Dad only cursed around him when he was really happy or absolutely furious. Peter was going with the latter.

“I didn’t do anything else!” he protested anyways, figuring he might as well try to defend himself while he had the chance. “I wasn’t drinking, I was just hanging out with Gwen, we weren’t even doing anything!”

Dad rubbed his forehead. “Jesus, kid, you don’t even know what you did.” He pulled Peter up so they were sitting face to face. “What you just did to your pop, for starters.”

“I get it, he was worried.” Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m not a baby anymore, Dad, I don’t need you two to worry about me.”

“Forget the damn curfew thing, focus on your conversation with Pop.” Dad gave him a look that could melt steel. “I can’t believe you just said he wasn’t your real parent!”

That was what this was about? “Well, he’s not,” Peter replied. “Who cares that he adopted me? That doesn’t mean I'm his kid.”

“You are such an _idiot_.” Dad’s voice was so sharp that Peter immediately shut up, flinching a bit. “Your pop has done nothing but take care of you for almost your entire life, and you repay him by denying him as a dad?”

“Just because he married you…” Dad raised his hand and Peter trailed off.

“You know he used to keep a pile of children’s books by his bed at all times? Because he knew that if you got a nightmare you might end up in his room and he wanted to be ready just in case. He used to read to you, any time of the day, for hours at a time.” Dad leaned back against the headboard and sighed, clearly past his temper. “Pop took care of you when you were sick; he’d wrap you up in blankets and let you watch movies for hours if you couldn’t sleep. He’d eat ice cream with you at four in the morning just because you woke up with a craving. Your pop has adored you from the moment he laid eyes on you, before he and I were even involved with each other. And you just told him to go rot in a hole. You should have seen the look on his face, kid.”

Peter was silent. He’d forgotten about all those things Pop had done with him until now. Jesus, had he really just told him that he wasn’t his dad?

Dad crossed his arms and stretched his back a bit. “You know he’s usually not even the one to punish you if you do something wrong. He’s the one that stands up for you and argues for a lesser punishment.”

Peter felt a little sick.

“Christ, Dad, I… I really fucked up,” he rasped, feeling tears prickle in his eyes. He swallowed hard and buried his head in Miles’ scruff. “I was just so angry and tired and… I'm so sorry.”

Dad sighed and wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Glad you finally came to your senses,” he replied.

“I gotta tell him I'm sorry. I gotta make things right, Dad,” Peter insisted.

“He’s out for a run right now, clearing his head. You can talk to him when he gets back. And don’t think you’re out of a punishment just because you feel guilty now.” Dad stood and rubbed Peter’s hair. “Just remember that your pop loves you, Peter. More than you could ever know. Genetics doesn’t make up a family. Love does.”

\--------------------

Peter never got the chance to apologize to Pop that night. The alarm sounded through the Tower, alerting the team to a crisis. Peter left his room and peeked into the family room, where everyone else was gathered. He noticed Pop was still gone and grimaced. He must be really pissed to be out this long.

“What’s the problem, JARVIS?” Dad asked, typing at a holograph screen. A map popped up and zeroed in on a section of Manhattan.

“Captain Rogers’ emergency alert has gone off,” JARVIS replied. “I have run general scans and discovered that the captain is currently unconscious and wounded from a poisoned knife.”

Dad shot out of the room before JARVIS even finished talking, heading for the balcony and calling for JARVIS to fire up the suit. The rest of the team dispersed after him, leaving Peter alone.

Peter felt a knot well up in his stomach, clenching and horrible. What if he never got to say how sorry he was to Pop, and how much he loved him and appreciated everything he ever did? Pop could die thinking that Peter hated him.

Oh god. Pop could die.

Peter ran into his room, slamming the door and crumpling on his bed next to a sleeping Miles. He felt like he was going to puke. Everything was all his fault—Pop wouldn’t have been out if Peter hadn’t said all those terrible things to him.

He was still lying awake when he heard the door creak open a few hours later. “You still awake?” Dad murmured. Peter turned on his side and blinked miserably.

“Is Pop dead?” he whispered, afraid of the answer.

Dad lay next to Peter on the bed. “No, the serum managed to expel most of the poison. He’s unconscious in the hospital, though. The doctors say it could go either way at this point.”

Peter clenched his hand in his hair. “I want to see him,” he insisted.

Dad sighed tiredly. “That’s why I'm here,” he replied. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

The ride there was silent. Dad kept tapping the steering wheel or rubbing his hands through his hair. Peter had never seen him so stressed, not even when he was crunching a deadline or the time that Peter accidentally blew up half the workshop when he as twelve.

When they arrived at the hospital, Peter trailed his father in and up the stairs to the intensive care unit. He saw the rest of the team—the rest of _his family_ —lounging in the hallway, quiet and exhausted. Uncle Bucky looked about ready to punch a wall.

“Any developments?” Dad asked Annasha. She shook her head.

“Everything’s exactly the same. Could be for a long time,” Uncle Clint muttered. “Doctors are saying there’s ‘nothing more they can do’ or some bullshit.”

“It’s not their fault,” Uncle Bruce reassured Dad. “They just don’t know how the serum works. No one understands it fully, there’s nothing they can do about it.”

Peter glanced in the open door while they were talking and almost burst into tears. Pop was lying in the bed, still and silent as a corpse and connected to more tubes than Peter could count. A heart monitor beeped steady by his side, the only indication he was even still alive. Peter made his way into the room shakily and collapsed in the chair by the bed.

“Hey, Pop,” he started quietly. “I just… wanted to come by, see how you were doing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dad close the door carefully, leaving Peter alone in the room. “So, I just… about our argument, I wanted to say…” he trailed off and the dam within him cracked and broke. He sobbed and grabbed Pop’s hand. “God, Pop, I'm so sorry! I didn’t mean it, I swear. I love you, so much, you’re the best father anyone could ever ask for and I'm sorry I didn’t realize that, realize all you did for me.” He buried his head in Pop’s side and sniffled again, breathing raggedly into the sheets. “You’re so important to me and this is all my fault, and I swear if you wake up I’ll never do this again, I’ll be in every time for curfew and I’ll never disobey you, I swear, but please wake up for me Pop because I can’t lose you, I just can’t!”

He stayed there for hours, grasping Pop’s hand and sobbing quietly into the bed. When he ran out of tears, he sat there and told all the memories he had of Pop taking care of him, all the late night movie marathons and trips to the park and the time Pop had taken him into the city late one night so that they could watch the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center light up, even though it was about fifteen degrees outside and snowing heavily.

It was well past dawn by the time Peter heard the door open again. Dad sat beside him and kissed his hair.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Peter Pan,” he whispered. Peter let out a quiet sob at the old nickname. Dad hadn’t called him that in years.

“What if he doesn’t wake up?” Peter asked miserably. Dad was quiet for a long time.

“Once, a long time ago, your Pop was hurt pretty badly in action. He was in a coma for about a week, and you sat by his side every second he was unconscious. You drew him pictures and told him stories and even slept in the bed with him. You asked me that same thing then, too. I'm gonna tell you now what I told you then; you have to think good thoughts for him. It’s going to take a lot more than this to keep your Pop down, I know it.”

Peter nodded and squeezed Pop’s hand. He’d do whatever it took to bring his father back to them.

\--------------------

It only took two days this time. Peter was lounging in the armchair by Pop’s side, watching some old western movie, when he felt the bed shift and saw Pop blink blearily out of the corner of his eyes. He whirled around and cried out.

“Pop, you’re okay!”

Pop blinked at him for a second and smiled cautiously. “Peter. You’re not still… I thought you were angry with me?”

Peter shook his head vehemently and grabbed Pop’s hand. “I’m so sorry I said all those things, I swear I didn’t mean a word I said. You’re my father and I don’t care if we’re not related by blood, and it was stupid of me to say it and I’ll never disobey you again—”

“Slow down, kiddo,” Pop chuckled. “You’re just like your father, you know. He has a tendency to ramble, too.”

“I just…” Peter looked down guiltily. “This is all my fault,” he choked out. He felt Pop stroke his fingers through his hair and leaned into the touch.

“Sweetheart, it’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault, okay? Everything’s all right now, I forgive you, kiddo. I always will.”

Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Pop forgave him. Everything was going to be fine.

They were going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to do a hurt fic, so here you go! I'll be posting more soon, as soon as I get internet up!! (I swear I'm almost done with Ch. 2 of The War Was in Color!!)
> 
> Got an idea for a fic? A prompt you'd like to see? Either leave a comment on this fic OR go to my [tumblr ask box](http://halfway-punk-rock.tumblr.com/ask) and leave it for me! I'd love to hear them!!!


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